The leader's eyes, oddly enough, were upon the ancient Greek.
Now suddenly a curious hush swept over the room.

Uncomfortably aware that he was a spectacular object of interest by reason of his mask and that every unmasked eye was full upon him, the minstrel, following the lines of least resistance, removed the bit of cambric from his eyes.
After all, in the sea of faces before him, there were none familiar.
As the mask dropped--the ancient Greek thoughtfully adjusted his tunic.
Instantly without pause or warning the soft strain of the orchestra swept dramatically into a powerful melody of measured cadences.

It was the tune Carl had played upon his flute to Jokai of Vienna months before.

The minstrel, mask in hand, stared at the orchestra, blanched and bit his lip.
"God bless my soul!" exclaimed Queen Elizabeth to Jethro, "it's the immigrant, Jethro, and there he was on the lace spread with his feet tied and gurgling.

I'll never forget his eyes." "Jokai of Vienna!" said the Black Palmer, whistling.